


Fragments

by amortentia1992



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amortentia1992/pseuds/amortentia1992
Summary: When everything goes wrong and you feel the pieces of your soul shatter, How do you survive in a world you no longer recognize? For Hermione, She writes it all down.





	1. How do you Survive the Cold?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: the newest addition to my works. please be sure to read the warnings as this is a dark fic. I hope you all enjoy. If you don't like then please don't read. Fancast for Rabastan is James Franco. Thanks you to VenomandVine for betaing this. To my readers, please note that in most cases the chapter will be posted before being edited and edits will be updated in shortly after it goes live, so that I can keep my posting on schedule. 
> 
>  
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> Warnings: This is a Mature fic not intended for readers under 18. It will contain themes of rape/non-consensual, coerced/forced marriage, dub-con, graphic sexual content, possible themes of self-harm, substance use/abuse, mature language and scenes of a generally violent nature. I do not post trigger notes in chapters so please be mindful of these themes listed here and read at your own risk.

How do You Survive the Cold?

Hermione struggled to move her limbs, they had become so stiff huddled up as she was in the dank prison cell. She had initially tried to count the days, but the cold, damp air that seemed to seep into her very soul made her lose track of them. At some point, since her arrival, there was nothing the witch could focus on other than the cold.

When Harry had died in the battle, and that monster had won the war, she had been remanded to Azkaban until which time a suitable purpose for mudbloods was found. She never expected she would ever see the light of day again, she was Hermione Granger, Potter's mudblood, undesirable number 2. She was certain that would die in the cold, dark, dungeon cell.

What purpose could she ever serve in this new world? The thought of being enslaved by the very people she had fought against made the witch curl up into a ball under the flimsy scrap of material that was meant to be a blanket. Though it couldn't really be called that. She had no idea how long she'd been in this hell. Every time she had a cohesive thought she prayed that she could just die so it would all be over soon. Merlin she prayed for the kiss, surely that would be better than rotting here alone.

The truth was, there was no longer many cohesive thoughts from the witch, the cold seemed to have frozen her mind, and the witch couldn't face the reality of her situation. Her best friends had died. The side of the war she fought on had lost. She was a criminal in the new order and she was living in a 3 by 3 foot cell on an island prison in the middle of the sea. Her days were spent curled up in a corner with her knees pressed to her chest. Her arms were usually wrapped around her legs to hold them as she laid on the thin, worn down mattress to avoid the dementors. She hardly moved, didn't eat, and she stared into the darkness blindly, unable to see. All she felt was the cold. There were of course the regular visits. Guards who were lonely, or depraved, who targeted the female prisoners for some comfort. During the rapes, she laid there like a stone statue and counted the seconds until she could be alone. She was conscious, but detached from her own existence. There were rare moments when her fight returned to her, but with nothing to fight for she was broken. It was easier to think of nothing than to focus on the miserable state she now inhabited, and the hopelessness of ever recovering to the point that she could be her true self again.

It was unusual then for the witch that the clanging and creaking sound that was inevitably the metal door to her cell block opening would cause the witch to try and move, an uncommon moment of consciousness. Hermione knew what came with the sound of the door, and freezing and broken-down she couldn't bring herself to care, but that day the witch was able to think, able to concentrate more on the cold, and she would be damned if she would lay still while she was raped again.

Unfortunately her muscles didn't want to cooperate. They were stiff and sore, moving them felt as though she were breaking every bone in her arms just to peel them away from her legs. She cried out in agonizing pain. She was about to give up when she heard the heavy footsteps, slowly stalking towards her cell. She fought harder to move and stretched her legs out before her with a strangled hiss, just as the footsteps stopped at her door.

Afraid, the witch didn't look up, she didn't want to see who the tormentor would be this time, not when she knew that she couldn't fight them off. The clink of the metal key twisting in the lock sounded and with a bang the metal bars opened to allow her assaulter access.

 

Rabastan stiffened his shoulders when he landed from his aparation at the place he only knew as his own personal hell. Azkaban, the place he had rotted in for years and the last place on the earth he ever wanted to return to, free man or not. It was not a welcome sight, but it was his mission to fulfill.

He had asked for his prize, much to the horror, shock, and disgust of some of the others. But he'd made his reasons known well enough, and been granted his wish by his master. The girl he had claimed to be his bride currently resided within the depths of this hellhole, and he was here to collect her and bring her away from the place.

He was sure he had his work cut out for him by claiming Hermione Granger to be his wife. He smirked at the thought, having admired her feistiness, and looked forward to taming it. After the war the girl had been taken here. Nobody really knew what to do with her. Mudbloods were being killed, enslaved, and banished all over the place, but she was so much more than a normal mudblood. She was powerful. She was brave. She was exquisite. The was only the small problem that she had been Potter's brains.

She couldn't have simply been banished, too many of the order had already escaped, and she was too intelligent and too hung up in the battle to simply disappear. She would continue to fight if she were left to her own devices. Likewise, the witch was too useful to be killed. It would be a waste of her potential to have her executed or enslaved, so this left his master with a conundrum. She was sent to live in the prison until something could be figured out to do with her.

And Rabastan had, probably for the first time in his life, felt actual fear and empathy for the witch. Having been in Azkaban himself, having faced the dementors, the endless cold, the misty dampness and the isolation, it wasn't a fate he wished on anyone, least of all a witch he actually admired. So, the day they carted her away from the ruins of the battle at Hogwarts, he vowed to himself he would find a way to get her out, and he would find a way to make her his. And so he had done.

It had been a year, but he had proven himself in those twelve months and earned a request to be granted by the dark lord. He wasn't the only one to have been given such an opportunity, and the others had asked for power, property, or position, Rabastan had asked for a wife. His reasoning was with Bellatrix dead, and Rodolphous uninterested in taking another wife, that Rabastan was the last hope for carrying on the family name. When asked why he couldn't choose a pureblooded bride, he answered simply that he didn't want to risk a marriage, a binding marriage, on a woman who might not be able to reproduce. One thing was for certain, dirty as their blood may be, mudbloods had no trouble conceiving and carrying to term, and it wasn't like they wouldn't be considered pure. One word from Voldemort, as all but king his word was law, and Hermione would be considered a pureblood, provided a dowry and her parentage would be erased. Nobody would be able to question his children's lineage then, and he would have the witch he had wanted since he had his arms wrapped around her at the siege in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. As long as he was able to control her.

However, his request having been granted meant he had to come back to this hellhole to retrieve her. This place was still the setting of his worst nightmares. Blocking out the worst of the memories and disallowing himself from reliving the fear he experienced here as an inmate, he stomped down the gloomy halls towards the reception desk, the sound of his heavy black boots echoing off the stone halls.

"Lestrange." The guard greeted as he approached the desk. Rabastan grunted and shoved the rolled scroll at him. The man had been a rookie guard when he was a prisoner, and he had been a cruel, ruthless bastard to the prisoners he was charged with. Rabastan hadn't forgotten and given half the change would repay him in kind one day. But now was not that time.

"Remanded Mudblood Granger to your custody, this says. He finally found a use for her?"

"She is to be my wife." Rabastan said thinly in as few words as possible. The guard laughed and when he glanced at the scowl Rabastan shot him paled considerably.

"Not joking then. Well let's go get her." The guard replied, grabbed the keys and led Rabastan deeper into the fortress.

 

Hermione whimpered when the cell door slid open. It was only a small sound, one of few she made these days, but just that small sound was a shout to the otherwise quiet walls. She had realized some time ago that she was the only inhabitant in this ward, she was truly and utterly alone. Except for the visits.

The chuckle that interrupted her choked whimper made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. She forced herself to move her body in an attempt to get away, but she was too weak to successfully fight of the guard. She quickly found herself pinned to the mattress, as the guard softly whispered to her. She realized that, of all her tormentors, this was the gentler of them, the one that talked to her during, not that she ever replied.

"Come now, be a good lass. Just lay back and think of England like you usually do." He said as he began fumbling with his belt.

She shook her head fiercely and tried to push him off, but the stronger guard easily pinned her hands above her head with just one of his, even as he tugged down her thin, cotton, uniformed pants.

The door to the cellblock at the end of the hall opened. Hermione could tell because it made the same clanking sound she associated with rape. She was like one of Pavlov's dogs, the sound of that door opening now meant that she was receiving a visit, and since the visits were sexual assaults on her person, if the door opened, she suffered.

Immediately the witch whimpered again, fearing that another one of the guards was coming to join in. She receded into her own mind and began counting, counting until the ordeal would be finished. One, two, three, four, five. The guard on top of her had just freed his own erect cock from the constraints of his pants when she suddenly felt him pulled violently off of her. She curled herself back up into her usual position. They would have to peel her limbs and stretch her out if they wanted access to her again. A fact she knew was all too possible and even easy for them, but it was the only defense she had, and she would be damned if she didn't try.

"The prisoner is no longer an inmate of Azkaban," the voice of her cruelest guard, the one she called warden, directed the statement at the other guard, but he hadn't been the one to pull him off of her. She waited for the further explanation. "Lestrange here now owns her and is removing her from the premise." Hermione stilled. Fear crept into the depths of her very soul. She wouldn't be in Azkaban anymore, but, she was being enslaved by one of the Lestrange brothers and they hated her, so her life with one of them wouldn't be much better…

"You've dared to touch what is mine." The masculine growl sounded, she still couldn't identify which brother it was. "Now you must be punished. Crucio."

"The guard that would have been her most recent rapist, collapsed on the ground and began to scream. She counted how long it lasted. It was her defense against reliving the curse herself as she could do nothing more than hear the guard suffer. One, two, three… Seven, eight, nine… twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven… Finally at 30 it was over. Hermione was shaking now, out of fear or from the cold she wasn't sure. More likely than not, it was both.

"I'll be taking the girl now." Came the voice again. Then she was being lifted, scooped into strong arms away from the mattress, and out of the cell. The first thing that came to mind when she was pulled into the man's chest was warmth. The wizard radiated warmth. After unending cold and torment for merlin knows how long, Hermione didn't care who it was that had just picked her up or what came next, she just relaxed into the warmth and soon after lost consciousness.

 

It was a week before she became fully conscious again. When he had found her, Rabastan had been pissed to see her being assaulted as she was, but his anger soon crossed the threshold between upset to livid when he saw the state his future bride was in.

The witch weighed no more than ninety-five pounds, was made up of skin and bones, and was clearly quite ill, pneumonia, as he would discover when he got her back to Malfoy manor, as well as quite filthy. He had not been expecting her to be in pristine shape, he was well aware that the conditions of the prison were not conducive to cleanliness or great health, but it was beyond clear that the witch had been severely neglected.

The wedding would have to be postponed. In the week that she was in and out of sleep, they had managed to heal her sickness and get small amounts of broth and water into her, but there was no way the witch was out of the clear yet. She would live, but she needed to recover before she could handle any more stress.

The wizard was sitting in a chair across from her bed, he had been dozing slightly, not really asleep, still aware of the surroundings, but not awake enough to keep his eyes open. A sound of rustling sheets caused him to pop his eyes open, and immediately he realized the witch was struggling to sit up in bed. He rose to help her and propped her up with some pillows.

She just looked at him, the fear and confusion evident in her soft amber colored eyes. He backed away and put up his hands in an effort to show he meant no harm. Not yet, at least.

"My name is Rabastan Lestrange." He introduced himself, but felt like an idiot. She had fought against him in a war, she likely knew who he was, but he had said his name anyway. "I'm now providing for your care. Do you know who you are?" Again he felt stupid, but the witch had endured a lot and he needed to know exactly how to care for her and where to start.

She slowly nodded her head in the affirmative and tried to open her mouth to speak. It took some time and he vaguely wondered how long it had been since she had. "Mudblood." She managed a moment later, in only a hoarse, harsh whisper. He winced, and tried to hold his temper so as not to scare her, her stay in the hellhole had broken her more than he had thought. The witch he knew of would never refer to herself as mudblood.

"No," he replied. "Do you know your name?" he reached for a glass of water that was by her bedside and offered it to her. She greedily gulped down the cool liquid.

"Hermione." She croaked when she had finished the glass.

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

"No. I was in Azkaban, but it is too warm here for this to be that place." She replied.

"You are currently a guest in Malfoy Manor. Lady Malfoy has graciously been helping me care for you. You were quite ill." Rabastan stated.

"Why?" Hermione whispered.

"Your health deteriorated because of your treatment in prison," he responded.

"No," she said, "Why am I here? I was supposed to die there."

"You were brought here because I was granted with your care and your life."

"Slave." The witch said hatefully. It wasn't a question.

"No, you are not to be my slave. I did all I could to get you out of that place, and when I was granted a wish, I requested you."

"Why?" she croaked again.

"I need a wife and I need an heir." Rabastan stated honestly and saw her gaze narrow.

"But I'm a mudblood." She replied.

"We'll see." He replied. "In any case the wedding won't occur until you are better."

The witch turned her head sullenly to one side, and refused to look at him. He bit the side of his cheek and sighed deeply.

"I won't treat you unkindly." He began, but she still wouldn't engage him further. "Your health and wellbeing is important to me."

"Only so you can get your heir," she spat out at him. "I'll be disposable after that." She wasn't wrong he thought wryly, at least compared to anybody else who would use her for the same gains. But Rabastan had wanted this witch for some time. The first time she had battled him he was attracted to her and her spirit, and he knew she would make a good wife.

He was determined to gain that spirit back, because it was clear that while the embers of her spark were still within her, the past year had burned most of it out and he would have to rekindle it. He wasn't going to dump her once he had her and an heir, she would be his wife and treated with the respect all Lestrange wives were due. He just couldn't reveal that to her yet.

"I'll send Narcissa in with some broth for you and she can answer any questions you may have." He growled out at her before he stomped out of the room and slammed the door closed behind him, locking it.


	2. How do You Erase Your Past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and favorites on Chapter 1 alone. I'm glad to see that you are all enjoying the story. Just a note: I do have a beta for this fic, Kait. We are still developing the best method for this story so it may sometimes be posted before editing and sometimes may be edited before posting depending on what happens. I will be keeping on a schedule with this, so please bare with me as we figure out the best course of action. Chapter 2 is already completely edited, FYI. That said, I extend a heartfelt thanks to venomandvinewood for being my new beta for Fragments. I hope you all enjoy the next chapter.

How do You Erase Your Past?

It had been three weeks since the day she first awoke to discover that she really was out of Azkaban. While she was fighting off the pneumonia and whatever else she had that was keeping her down, she struggled in and out of wakefulness, but never enough to be truly aware. She had thought she was perhaps only dreaming, but now she knew she was not. She had to admit, she was being carefully cared for. She was fed no less than three times a day, provided with appropriate clothing, and clean. She sort of felt like a doll though, because none of it was of her own volition. The elves laid her clothes chosen for her by Narcissa out daily and they did her hair. She didn't get a choice in what she was fed but was glad that it had finally progressed to more solid food over the broth she had been served for weeks.

She wasn't treated unkindly, she was given answers to her questions, but she was locked in her room, for her safety she was told. Rabastan visited her almost daily. Narcissa had explained that at this point in their relationship he was courting her, so the visits were chaperoned and meant for them to get to know one another. However, there were still endless hours where she was alone. And when she was alone she remembered.

Hermione remembered her parents, what it was like when she was a little girl. She remembered growing up, learning she was a witch and meeting her friends in school. She also remembered the war, the same friends and allies she had fought with side by side and having seen them die in battle. However, she had detached herself from these thoughts for so long that the sudden rush of memories was painful. What would Harry and Ron think of her now? She was grateful to be living in Malfoy manor and being cared for? Would they hate her, or would they understand that after Azkaban, anywhere would be like heaven, and she was especially pampered here.

She tried and tried to detach herself once more, she felt guilty because she actually liked being here. She didn't mind that she might have to sell her soul if it meant warmth, hearty meals, and clothing instead of the numbing cold and wet mist she had suffered for far too long. The guilt hurt, it physically hurt her. She couldn't stand to be alone because, she couldn't bare the judgment she passed on herself while reliving her past.

She kept repeating in her mind her future husband's comment that they would see about her being a mudblood. She was perplexed by it, what did he mean by it? It was a fact, she was muggle-born, she couldn't change that she was born to muggles, raised by muggles. It was the truth. Her question was answered when her betrothed came to see her that day. Narcissa had been overly giddy that morning, so she knew something was going on, and she wasn't sure she was going to like it.

"I have something for you." He stated, after he greeted her with a hug. She didn't like when he did that, despised his touch actually, but she had been coolly informed by Narcissa that it was custom, she was to marry this man and it was expected for him to greet her in such a manor. Hermione was just hung up on the fact that she was supposed to hate this man, and felt odd because she didn't. Had it been too long since she had curled up in the arms of Harry and Ron in their tent that the masculine feel of his arms around her felt strangely good, even though her mind screamed at her that he was a deatheater?

"What?" Hermione replied. The wizard handed her a rolled scroll that was closed firmly by a circular wax crest.

"This my dear, is your newfound status and pardon, signed, sealed and delivered." Rabastan remarked.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he countered and she did, breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment to skim over the contents.

_Let it be proclaimed that hereby Ms. Hermione Granger (to be Lestrange) is officially pardoned for her acts in the war on the side of the order. From this point forward all charges against her are expunged and time has been served as punishment so there will be no other actions taken against her. Furthermore, Ms. Granger's status as mudblood is hereby revoked. As the future mistress of House Lestrange, as wife to none other than Mr. Rabastan Lestrange heir apparent, her unfortunate upbringing is overlooked by the powers that be._

_Ms. Granger is now considered a pureblood, as the House of Lestrange has made a bid for her and the House of Malfoy had agreed to claim guardianship of her until the time that she is wed. Ms. Granger has been allotted a dowry of 50,000 galleons to be fulfilled at the time of her wedding, as well as her own vault and annual allowance of 15,000 galleons and the properties of the Paris condo and the vineyard in Florence, Italy as her own personal estates, to be paid to her by her guardians._

_Any witch or wizard who questions this proclamation is to be punished with a six month stay in Azkaban should they speak out or act against Ms. Granger in anyway. Likewise should Ms. Granger attempt to reject her newfound status or flee from her guardians or in any way attempt to get out of her marriage the pardon will be revoked and she will be remanded into the custody of Azkaban once more._

The document was signed Lord Voldemort, and as she finished reading it the parchment slipped from Hermione's fingers.

"You have got to be kidding me." She said.

"I assure you, I am not. You are now a pureblood officially and legally. Nobody can question it." Her future husband explained.

"You can't seriously expect me to accept this, to reject my parents?"

"Au contraire ma petite, I do expect that. The muggles who raised you are gone, they are not here to claim you and in fact there is no longer any evidence that a John and Jean Granger ever even existed. You are now considered the niece of the Malfoy family, and have been granted every appropriate luxury that comes with the title, you as of now, are not, nor ever have been, a muggle-born."

"You can't just erase my whole past!" Hermione yelled at him.

"I just did." Rabastan sneered. "And if you recall, attempting to reject or counter it will be a one-way ticket back to hell. Do you want that to happen?"

Hermione shuddered at the thought. She had turned her back to him, but she shook her head. "No." she whispered.

"Then start considering your new status as reality."

"I don't know how." She countered.

"Then I suggest you ask your Aunt Narcissa." Rabastan goaded her. "I bid you good day, ma Cherie."

"Good day, sir." She replied in kind. Narcissa would have thrown a fit, in fact she did after the first "official" meeting with her betrothed. Any proper witch would refer to her betrothed as sir, or my lord, until they were married and even then, in public, call her husband my lord, or husband. She insisted that Hermione begin to do so immediately.

"Oh, before I forget." Rabastan paused in the doorway and turned back to her, "the wedding will be next weekend." And with those parting words he disappeared from view. A moment later, Narcissa entered the room having been standing just outside the door as a chaperone.

"Isn't it exciting news, darling girl?" Cooed the elder witch as she fussed about.

"I wouldn't use those words." Hermione replied.

"Oh hush." Narcissa admonished. "Of course it is." It seemed that as she had made her mind up, that it had been decided and Hermione honestly didn't have the energy to fight her on it. She chose not to reply instead.

"Seeing as you are now my niece, I will, ensure of course that you have the proper attire for a woman of your station." The witch was saying.

"Narcissa, I don't think that you will be able to dress me after my wedding." Hermione replied.

"You must call me Aunt Cissa dear," her companion remarked. "You are correct, of course, which is why over the next twelve days we will have to assemble you an appropriate wardrobe of your own. You will be moving into Lestrange Hall after the ceremony. It would just be unseemly for you to stay there before the bonding."

"So you keep saying."

"I have a little engagement gift for you my dear." Her 'Aunt' said having chosen to ignore Hermione's snarky comeback. "Of course, it's not officially an engagement until the gala Saturday, seven days before the wedding, but I thought it would be nice to give them to you early." Hermione was handed a small parcel, neatly tied with a green silk ribbon she was fairly certain could have been one of Lucius's hair accessories.

Carefully she undid the bow and neatly unwrapped the package to reveal an antique carved wooden box. She opened the lid. Inside was a quill from an eagle owl, a pot of onyx hued ink, and two books. One was a small, worn looking tome which was titled Charms Every Good Witch Should Know. The other was a brown, bound book of blank parchment. It was, Hermione realized, a diary.

"Thank you Aunt Cissa." Hermione gasped out. It was perhaps the first genuine feeling of awed gratitude she had felt in a long time. She closed the lid of the box and set it on the dresser before enfolding the other witch in a hug, shocking them both.

"Think nothing of it dear girl. It's a tradition in Pureblood families, usually the mother would bestow it, but, seeing as you are my ward and you are the closest thing to a daughter I will have, it will have to do. Most married witches keep a journal, it's used for all sorts of things, recipes, family secrets, memory keeping, whatever you wish, It's all charmed so only you can read it and so that it never runs out of pages. The little black book, as I call it, is a tradition to. It's a book of helpful charms, from simple hair remedies to household necessities and even bedroom shall we say helpers. I wanted you to have it as you start your new life."

"Still, I thank you."

"You are welcome. You should rest now my dear, you have had quite an afternoon. I'll send one of the elves up to help you get ready for dinner later, you will eat with us in the dining room."

"Wait, am I no longer a prisoner then?"

"No child!" Narcissa exclaimed in horror. "You never were. We simply needed to keep you here for your own protection, but now... now you are a ward, an extension of this family, and free to roam the manor as you wish."

"Oh." Was all Hermione could say. Narcissa shot her one last small smile before she shut the door to leave the younger witch with her thoughts. Hermione had mixed feelings on Narcissa's last statement. Dinner, in the dining room, with everybody wasn't the most appealing notion to her, but on the other hand it would be nice to finally leave the suite she had been occupying for the last several weeks. It may be a nice and luxurious room, but with a locked door it didn't matter how nice the cell, it was still just a prison. Now she had the opportunity for more freedom. The witch sighed deeply and reopened the box to examine the bound little diary and quill set. Immediately, the witch knew what she would use her own for. She was going to write it down. Her own personal survival guide to her new life. Because here she was stuck in a new regime, surrounded by people she didn't like, depending on the care of said people, and she had no idea who she even was, anymore, much less how she would cope with all of this. So she would write down all her thoughts and feelings and advice to herself so that every time she forgot how to breathe she could look there for answers. Perhaps, it wasn't the best strategy for survival, but for now, it was the only idea Hermione had. She picked up the white quill and slowly began to recount her experience from Azkaban and the last several weeks.

 

Rabastan walked back up the stairs of the manor, clean shaven and hair still damp from his recent shower. When he had left his future bride earlier that afternoon, he had been annoyed by her reaction. He would have thought she would be more grateful for his procurement of a pardon for her. A pardon meant that she wouldn't face any more punishment, or enslavement like the other survivors of the order did, but she had been cross about it and he was irritated at that.

So, he had been in the card room with a few of his friends and they had been drinking. The wizard, learned only after his third glass of Ogden's that his bride to be was going to be joining them for dinner. On a normal occasion he wouldn't have cared, but he realized that this would be Hermione's first exposure to a pureblooded dinner and he didn't want to give her the wrong impression, annoyed with her or not.

So, that is why he had cleaned himself up and even taken a sobering potion and now found himself trussed up in a neat suit as he knocked on her door. A moment passed before it opened and revealed his witch. She was dressed formally, Narcissa's influence he assumed, and looked really nice in her black lace gown and silver heels. As etiquette would dictate, she, aside from a pair of sapphire studs in her ears, was unadorned in jewelry. It was traditional that an engaged woman only wore jewelry that her betrothed provided for her.

"Good evening, Hermione." Rabastan greeted.

"Sir." She nodded once.

"You look very pretty, ma Cherie."

"Thank you." Hermione replied.

"I have brought something else for you to wear." He said as he extracted two velvet boxes from his jacket pocket.

He opened the first one, it was a silver snake that was meant to be a bracelet. "This is a betrothal set, it is only able to be removed by me, but it's a protection charm as well as a location tracker. As long as you wear it, I will be able to know where you are and know that if any harm would come your way, you will be safe." He said as he clasped it around her wrist. The snake opened its mouth to swallow its tail before clamping down and locking in place.

"I figured there would be some catch to my freedom." Hermione said dully. "It's a very pretty bracelet sir." She added, sincerely. He didn't comment on her sarcastic reply. He honestly couldn't blame her for feeling that way, but the bracelet had been in his family for centuries, most Lestrange women had worn it, it wasn't offered to her as a way to limit her freedom. He opened the smaller box and revealed a custom, goblin made, silver, 17 karat diamond ring, her engagement ring. She gasped at it.

"And a ring to signify your status as my future wife." He said.

"It's beautiful."

"I had it made for you, your own beauty in mind."

"Thank you, Rabastan." Hermione said slipping up and calling him by his given name. "I mean, my Lord."

Rabastan smirked. "I won't tell, don't worry." He chuckled. "Your welcome ma petite, shall we head to dinner?"

"I suppose we shall." She said and took his offered arm.

He led her down to the dining room, and when they walked in every pureblooded male stood. It was only dinner for those that resided in the manor at this point, excluding the dark lord of course, who never ate at meals. Thorfinn Rowle, Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Lucius and Draco Malfoy, and Mulciber, first name as yet unknown, were present. Hermione seemed surprised that the wizards received her by standing, so he leaned in.

"It is good manners for gentlemen to stand when a lady enters or leaves a room. You will soon learn to become accustomed to it." She nodded her head in understanding.

"Ah, if it isn't my lovely niece," Lucius drawled out, and Rabastan did not mistake the tone of resentment in his remark. Lucius would never go against what the dark lord had ordered, but that didn't mean that he was happy about it. So, while he would publicly claim Hermione as his niece as he had been told to do, he would likely still only see her as a mudblood. Blood purity was so important to him. It was important to Rabastan too, but not to the extreme of Lucius. Did he believe that those of pure, magical birth should be in power? Yes, but he didn't believe that muggle-borns were filthy and held no place in the wizarding world. However, the few bad eggs like the Malfoy's made any pureblood guilty by association and assumed to share the same beliefs.

Hermione didn't reply to Lucius's welcome, she simply took her seat next to Narcissa and allowed Rabastan to sit next to her. He was wondering if she was ignoring the hostility in the other wizards tone in an attempt to be a lady or simply because she no longer cared. He feared it was the latter. The young witch had made tremendous progress in the weeks since her arrival. She was talking more, she had less nightmares from what he had been told, and she wasn't fighting the elves on eating any more like she had been at first. However, there was no doubt in his mind, that she was far off from the spitfire he had been obsessed with for years, and he still planned to fix that.


	3. What Traits Make Up a Lady?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A special thanks to all of my readers and reviewers for their support, as well as to Kait (venomandvine), my lovely beta for taking the time to fix this up. I hope you all enjoy Chapter 3.

What Traits Make Up a Lady?

Hermione was exhausted by the time the day of the wedding rolled around. Her Aunt Cissa had taken it upon herself to transform Hermione into the epitome of a high society, pureblooded, lady. Yes, that is correct. How, Hermione had asked herself at first, was one transformed into a lady? She soon found out. It was through, as her aunt so aptly named it, pureblood etiquette lessons, and over the last twelve days, Hermione had not been given a break from them. The witch had always thought of herself as well-mannered and polite, and of course she knew how to set the table properly for a dinner party and use her utensils correctly, so she hadn't thought that the training would be terribly difficult. She acknowledged that, after her stay in Azkaban, she might need some brushing up on how to re-enter into polite society, but she didn't believe it would be too extensive. How wrong she was.

Narcissa's idea of what an aristocratic lady should be like, was far different from Hermione's understanding. And Merlin, (though cussing was frowned upon, quite severely) did Cissa take it seriously. Hermione had first been taken shopping, for a new wardrobe. The experience was not a terrible one if she looked over the fact that Narcissa turned into an absolute monster when shopping, comparable to Fluffy the three-headed dog from her first year. She now was only allowed to wear dresses, or sometimes the occasional skirt, with witch's robes. A proper lady did not prance about wearing trousers, she had been reprimanded coldly. While they had been on their shopping adventure from hell, they had, of course, found her a dress for her wedding, which Narcissa insisted on buying for her as an official engagement gift. Hermione may not have been thrilled about her upcoming nuptials but even she couldn't deny the fact that she looked like a princess in the gown, which was positively beautiful. Then, Narcissa had made sure Hermione memorized every beauty charm in the little black book of charms. She supervised Hermione as she attempted to use them to fix her hair, apply her daily cosmetics, as well as charm her clothes to fit. It simply wouldn't do for a lady to be seen in public under dressed or appearing as though she just woke up. People would think she was ill.

Next, the witch had instructed Hermione on the etiquette a pureblood lady should display. Things like, how to talk like a lady, drink tea like a lady, smile like a lady, sit like a lady, and how to dance and curtsey like a lady. She had even gone so far as to ensure that Hermione knew how to walk like a lady, which was the worst part of the whole ordeal. Hermione had never liked heels, and not only was she ordered to wear nothing but heels from this point forward, she had been given lessons on walking in them. It was humiliating to endure, and Narcissa hadn't let up on her until she was able to walk the length of the longest hallway in the manor without stumbling. Then the witch had begun correcting Hermione's posture.

She was to sit up straight at all times, shoulders back, no slouching, with her head held high. A lady never lowered their head, they communicated with their eyes, a gaze that went over somebody's head would signify that one's station was above the person they were looking at, whereas lowered eyes meant one's own station was below the other person. A straight gaze meant the two were of equal station. Narcissa had Hermione practice walking with the same posture. Hermione had never thought she would ever have a reason to hate a book. Then again, she had never thought she would have to balance ancient, heavy tomes on her head as she paced back and forth in heels with a straight back and squared shoulders, with the idea of keeping them on her head as she did instead of allowing them to fall off.

Hermione had been overwhelmed by all of the lessons, and she was insulted by what they suggested. Narcissa made it out as though because she had been raised by muggles that Hermione was too common to have any decent social skills. However, she saw the reasoning behind that view as well. Any pureblood witch would have learned these things from birth, have grown up walking with their heads held high. They would have been raised with these customs. Hermione had not been immersed in pureblood culture from a young age, but as her status now mandated that she was a pureblood, truth aside, it was crucial for her to have the associating traits of one, lest she bring shame to her house. They didn't mean the Gryffindor one, she was sure.

The night before her wedding, Narcissa had declared Hermione proficient. She had the basics mastered and was conducting herself in a ladylike fashion, and it would have to do. However, she should continue to observe other pureblooded witches demeanors and behavior and adopt them. Hermione was so relieved that the torture was completed and had collapsed that night in her bed, completely worn out. She didn't even pause to really think about the fact that when she next awoke, it would be her wedding day.

A fact that was rectified when she sat straight up in her bed on Saturday morning, and all the thoughts came pouring in. Holy mother of Merlin, it was her bloody WEDDING DAY!

And she was getting married for the wrong reasons. She might end up looking like a princess by the time Narcissa was through with her, but this was a forced marriage. If she had a choice she wouldn't be in this situation. Not that she preferred the cold atmosphere of the wizarding prison, but Rabastan Lestrange was not her idea of a good match. If the war had gone the way she planned, she would likely be married to Ron by now, but Ron was dead, she saw him fall. Harry was gone they had lost, and now, she would rather be dead then walking down an aisle. But she didn't have a say, and it was going to happen, like it or not.

As if on cue, the entourage of house-elves appeared in her room. The time for preparations had arrived.

 

Rabastan had been summoned, on the day of his blasted wedding, to see his master. The dark lord would, of course, be in attendance at the ceremony and afterwards at the reception. He wondered why he was being summoned now, not that it was much trouble, as he had stayed in Malfoy manor overnight.

The dark lord himself had taken up residence is the ostentatious home after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. It was meant as punishment for Lucius, and now even though the war was won, and the Malfoy's had proven themselves loyal and worthy once more, the snake-like wizard never left. Though there were rumors he might be planning on moving his court soon, as if this were the medieval times and he was an English Monarch who would go on progression from residence to residence. Speculation made it out that Voldemort would be moving from manor to manor of his follower's throughout the year instead of remaining in one place all the time.

The only problem with being summoned, was that it was early, and Rabastan had been up late drinking with his comrades at a stag party, celebrating his last night as a bachelor. He was tired and he had been pissed last night so the lingering effects were still present even as he made his way through the halls and to the suite his master occupied.

"My lord, you summoned?" Rabastan asked as he bowed upon entering the room.

"Ah Rabastan," The dark lord hissed a reply and grinned his eerie, terrifying smile, "And how is the groom this morning?"

"I am well, my lord, as well as any wizard can be after a stag party of course."

"Yes, indeed. I have asked you to come today because I wish to discuss the type of ceremony you will be conducting today with your bride to be."

Rabastan hesitated. He recognized that the dark lord was after something here, or else he wouldn't be asking. Rabastan had planned on the traditional vows and bonding ceremony, he had no wish to push Hermione too soon into anything she was unwilling or reluctant to do.

"Well, I had been planning on the traditional rituals, my lord. Of course, if you had another plan it would be my honor to implement that instead."

"I see," hissed the wizard, "I think, Rabastan that the traditional vows will not do. You understand that I have now made you the heir to the Lestrange estate despite you being the younger son, because your brother refuses to remarry and beget an heir, and you have the desire to carry on your family name."

"Yes my lord, I know that is why you granted me the privilege of taking over as head of my house." Rabastan replied, and then thought, much to my brother's resentment. But it was true. Roldolphus's refusal to remarry or to provide a son would have killed their line, and not only did Rabastan not want that to happen, but the dark lord had been displeased by the predicament as well.

"So then you know that the heir to your house is important and the sooner one is conceived, the better."

"Yes my lord."

"I think therefore that you should use the fertilitatem ritus vinculum at your ceremony." The dark lord instructed and Rabastan sucked in a cold, sharp breath. That was an old pureblooded ritual, it was seldom used anymore. "I expect many children from this union Rabastan, not just a singular heir." The dark lord added as he waited for his servant's response.

"Yes my lord. Of course, I will let the high priest know of the correction to the ceremony."

"And Rabastan, I do expect you to consummate this marriage tonight, a willing bride or not, and I will be checking to make sure my wishes are adhered to." The dark lord called after Rabastan as he strode for the door. The dark haired wizard nodded once in confirmation, indicating he received the message.

The fertilitatem ritus vinculum dated back to the medieval ages. It was an oppressive bond, one that wasn't used anymore because it gave no rights to the witch. Rabastan regretted that he would have to use this with Hermione, but he was not about to disobey the dark lord. The ceremony was a fertility ritual as well as a bonding ritual, and gave the wizard absolute rights to his wife, body mind and soul. The witch, who never even spoke at the ceremony, had to obey her husband in all things. It was outdated and it was cruel, and Rabastan resented it, but it would be done. He had no other choice. He thought perhaps he should inform Lady Malfoy of the change in plans though, the least he could do was give Hermione some heads up on what to expect.

 

Hermione couldn't breathe. Both figuratively and literally. The corset on her gown was pulled so tight she was sure it was hindering her ability to pull in life sustaining oxygen. And she had just been told about the type of ceremony being performed for her wedding.

It was the fertilitatem ritus vinculum. She remembered reading about it in one of her History of Magic textbooks at some point. She had thought then that it was an abhorrent ritual to perform for a wedding, to completely strip one party entirely of all rights. Now, faced with the prospect of the fertility bonding rites being her own wedding, she was livid. It wasn't like she had that many rights to begin with, but now she was going to not only be forced to conceive and bear children but she wouldn't even have the ability to ever disobey her husband's wishes. And all because the fucking dark lord ordered it to be so.

Narcissa had explained, given the choice, Rabastan would have selected a traditional bonding ceremony. Alas, it was not to be, and now the time was upon her. She stood at the top of the winding staircase next to her 'Uncle' who was to give her away.

"Listen here, girlie," the blonde was threatening. "You will walk down that aisle willingly and bow before the dark lord or I will throw you to your knees before him. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Uncle Lucuis" Hermione replied, mad enough to goad him. The last thing he wanted was to be considered family to her, and she knew it. He didn't reply, merely gripped her arm tightly, though she was sure that it wouldn't appear so to onlookers, and proceeded to lead her down the stairs.

Desperately the witch gasped for some air and pleaded to the powers that be that she wouldn't cry, like she was in danger of doing, in front of all the people. She was determined not to let these monsters know how much she was affected by this. She held her head high as the aisle from the staircase to the alter came into view. Her mind wandering for a moment, she idly thought that her act of defiance was quite in tune with the mannerisms Narcissa had spent the better part of the last two weeks drilling into her. She held the stature that a lady would, and she looked like a royal to match the stance. Though, the amusing thing was, it wasn't because of the lessons that she was carrying herself as such.

Suddenly Hermione realized, thanks to the grip on her arm becoming even more restricting, that they had reached the end the aisle where Voldemort now stood before them. Dutifully, albeit resentful, the witch sank into a curtsey of a respectable depth. Since she was now considered a pureblood and about to become the mistress of House Lestrange, her curtsey would not be as low as a halfbloods or even pureblooded ladies not holding the title of mistress of the house.

The dark lord seemed pleased by her acknowledgment and inclined his head before moving to the side. Lucius walked her the last five feet to where Rabastan stood before an old and wrinkly high priest, one of the only wizards able to perform the fertilitatem ritus vinculum

"Who gives this witch to this wizard?" The old man croaked out loudly when she arrived.

"I Lucuis Malfoy, her uncle and guardian, do give her hand in marriage." The blonde stated and then placed her hand into Rabastan's warm, outstretched one. That was it, Hermione thought bitterly, just like that her fate was sealed, the leading man in her life had agreed to the union and she had no say. It certainly didn't help that she wasn't permitted to speak, they didn't even require her to exchange vows.

The priest wrapped a silver cord around their joined hands. It burned momentarily. Then he began to chant in Latin, what she assumed, must be the fertility rites. Hermione didn't speak the language, it being a dead tongue after all, aside from standard incantations and the odd phrase or two, so she had no idea what was being said.

When the chanting concluded, a silver chalice was thrust towards her and she knew she was expected to drink from it. The liquid was wine she realized upon sipping from it. The action was repeated by Rabastan.

"I, Rabastan Demitruis Lestrange do take this witch into my house as my lawfully bonded wife. I swear to care for her needs, to fill her with my seed, to grant her desires, to protect her honor and reputation, to oversee her relationships and to be faithful to her and only her so that any child I sire might also be hers from this hour until the hour of my death." Rabastan vowed, and Hermione noticed he left out the part about correcting her disobedience. He slipped a ring onto her finger above her engagement ring, it was a matching set, goblin made silver encrusted with a circle of tiny diamonds.

Another bout of chanting came from the priest and then a stinging burn from the cord around their hands caused Hermione to look at them. They were glowing in a golden light, signifying that the bond was forming. The priest had cut both their palms and joined the blood together.

"May Merlin bless your union and may your bride bear you many children," the priest said formally to Rabastan before he proclaimed, "This wizard has sworn to accept this witch, the bonding kiss may now take place."

Rabastan leaned forward, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, and she gasped at the sensation, which of course made him deepen the kiss. It was nice, she had to be honest. The kiss was warm, moist, with just the right amount of pressure, but it was over almost as soon as it began.

"I now pronounce you wizard and wife." Applause sounded from the assembled audience, and Rabastan, keeping her hand clasped in his, led her down the aisle as a married woman.

Once they reached the end of the flower covered, white carpeted path, and the door that Lucius had all but dragged her through minutes earlier, they had to turn and face the assembled guests who were already forming a line to offer their felicitations to the new couple. Hermione was still unable to speak and now thought that somebody had hexed her without her knowing it. She could only pretend to smile sweetly and accept the kisses to her hands from wizards and hugs from witches, with as much grace as she could muster. Finally, the last guest to congratulate them, the dark lord himself, stood before them.

"My Lord," Rabastan said with a formal bow, so Hermione followed suit with a curtsey.

"Cat have your tongue, Madame Lestrange?" Voldemort asked of her with his horrible, fear inducing grin that displayed his rotting teeth. Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Finite," Rabastan hissed at her.

"My lord," Hermione whispered, still in a lowered stance.

"Congratulations on your union." Voldemort said.

"Thank you." Hermione replied with contempt that she withheld from her tone.

"Indeed. Thank you, My lord." Rabastan echoed and then escorted her out of the room to the dining room where the wedding reception and feast was to be held. Narcissa had put in a lot of effort for it, but Hermione just couldn't bring herself to care.


	4. What is so Special About Being Married?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you out there reading, reviewing, adding to favorites and following, your support is appreciated. Special thanks to my awesome beta Venomandvine.

What Is So Special About Being Married?

Hermione was seated at the right hand of Rabastan who was seated at the right hand of Voldemort, as the guest of honor. Usually, Lucius and Narcissa would occupy those seats as the Lord and Lady of the house that the dark lord was currently inhabiting. However, because of the special occasion being in honor of Hermione's union to House Lestrange, as well as her new husband's now official status as Lord Lestrange, they graciously agreed to move down two places.

Idle conversation floated across the table, as Hermione sat picking at her food. Nobody was bothering to engage her in any conversation, and it seemed that she was still an outsider, which she was fine with, really. The brunette witch didn't care for any of them. Two places away, at the head of the table, sat the man she hated to the very core of her being. He was the murderer of her best friends, not to mention responsible for the persecution, torture of countless witches, wizards and muggles. He was wizard who had no remorse for the damage he caused. To his left, sat the husband of the woman who spent countless hours inflicting the cruciatus curse on her, weeks before the final battle, only to end up carving a hateful word in her left forearm with a cursed blade. A constant reminder that no matter what was written on a piece of paper, she was still a mudblood.

Hermione continued in her task of pushing food around on her plate. The meal consisted of fresh, grilled salmon, a fish Hermione never enjoyed to begin with. She wasn't hungry, but even if she was the events of the day would have hindered her appetite. As she did this, she listened to snippets of conversation circling the room, allowing her to pick up on things she may otherwise have missed. An elf came to clear her plate, and when it had, Rabastan noticed she had not eaten a morsel of food. He turned his dark gaze towards her, but said nothing. Hermione didn't even glance up to realize that he was looking at her. He did, however, notice that Hermione's wine goblet was, in fact, empty. With a simple hand gesture, he halted the creature from refilling it. The house elf returned with the main course of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, the salmon having been one of the introductory courses, and set it in front of Hermione. Rabastan fixated a watchful eye on her, taking note that began swirling the food around on the platter but never rose the fork to her mouth.

He set a hand on her knee to gain her attention. "You need to eat." He whispered quietly in her ear. She nodded, and the surrounding guests laughed at what they thought was a shared sweet moment. His hand didn't move until she had actually eaten a bite of the chicken.

At that moment the witch seated across from Hermione, Ophelia Nott, Theo's new wife from an Italian pureblood family, directed a question her way.

"Are you looking forward to moving in to Lestrange Hall, Madame?"

Hermione pursed her lips and looked straight at her. "I wouldn't know Lady Nott. I haven't heard a thing about it." She replied coolly before returning to eating her chicken and potatoes.

"Oh." The woman replied. "I've heard it's a quaint little place," she added as she wrinkled her nose on the emphasized word of quaint. Rabastan, who had moved an arm around Hermione's shoulders, stiffened beside her at the implied insult to his home.

"I will have you know Lady Nott," he said peacefully enough, "that my ancestral home, while antiquated and not as large as some of the other sacred twenty-eight estates, is very beautiful and relaxing."

The distasteful woman made a small sound at Rabastan's retort and took a sip of her wine. Hermione returned to eating the food in front of her, which really was quite good. She watched with mild interest as Theo Nott, an old schoolmate of hers scowled at Ophelia. Hermione didn't have to guess what had upset him, as his wife had just insulted the home of a higher ranking deatheater. Theo had only joined up right before the final battle, so he was still low in the ranks and it was unseemly for his wife to insult Rabastan. Nott and her husband may be purebloods of equal measure, however, Hermione's new husband had more status in the regime. Not in small part due to of his years in service to the dark lord, and being an older member in society.

She raised her wine glass to her lips only to find it was empty. She turned to look at Rabastan inquisitively. He quirked his eyebrow and shaking his head slightly glanced at her plate still half-full of food. Understanding that he had noticed that she was drinking more than she was eating, she sighed.

"May I have some water please?" She asked quietly. A moment later a glass of water took the place of her wine glass.

She resumed taking small bites of her food ignoring people as she did so. At some point, a traditional wedding cake appeared before them. Hermione managed to take a couple bites of it for the sake of the host before pushing the plate away gently. As soon as she had the dark lord turned to Rabastan, before addressing the assembled guests.

"I believe that it is time for the newlyweds to retire for the evening," he cackled and a cheer went across the table. Hermione froze, it had now come to the moment she was dreading.

"Thank you Lucius, Narcissa, for hosting the ceremony. And thank you all for attending, but my lord is correct that my new bride and I will retire now." Rabastan uttered a gracious reply. Just then an overly obnoxious comment from an even more brutish wizard sounded through the dining room.

"Pound the little princess into the mattress nice and good Lestrange," Thorfinn Rowle jeered and then added, "Merlin knows if she was my wife, I would be."

A chorus of "Here, Here's" echoed around the males present at the table and Hermione flushed as Rabastan took her hand in his to lead her away. He ignored the comment but as they withdrew, she heard Narcissa admonish Rowle for being a pig, and then the dark lord's comment that he was just enjoying himself, as he was entitled to do.

The sounds of the guests enjoying the celebration became more muffled the further the couple went up the stairs. The quitter it became, the more Hermione realized how alone with her new husband she was. Fear seized her and increased even more when she noticed that Rabastan wasn't leading her to her bedroom suite.

As if sensing her confusion when they passed the room she had been occupying for the past several weeks, he explained "Narcissa prepared the honeymoon suite for us, it's their best and biggest guest room here, and since the manor has been the location of many weddings over the years, it has been used for new couples."

"Oh." Hermione managed to say.

He led her into a very large chamber, which housed what must be the largest bed she ever saw, and an attached master bath. She was shaking with nerves, married now, she knew what came next, but she was inexperienced, and she hadn't even experimented much with any of this.

She drew her arms across her chest and strayed closer to a wall that was furthest from the bed. Rabastan, not intending to scare her, or jump her immediately for that matter, stayed several feet away and moved his hands in a motion of surrender.

"Hermione…" He began, "it's okay I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'd certainly hope not, when you have already had ample opportunity to." She rebutted sharply. He sighed, he deserved that, and it wasn't as if he had expected her to be willing, but he couldn't help it. Rabastan had wanted this witch since he first laid eyes on her. The desire only increased when he held her captive, wriggling to free herself, in his arms that day in the Department Of Mysteries. She wouldn't know it, but he first laid eyes on her at the World Cup the year before. When he saw her wielding a wand, and sparking with energy, he was completely sold. He wouldn't lie, it wasn't for anything more than a conquest at first, but now, after seeing her thrown into a cell to rot, and knowing how powerful she was, knew she would make a great wife, and mother to his children. Which is why he claimed her.

"We need to discuss some things, so please come sit," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the table that occupied the room. And then he poured her a glass of wine.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Let me make myself clear. While I have wanted you as a wife for some time now, what happened today was not what I wanted it to be like. I would have preferred the traditional rites."

"I know, Cissa told me." His wife replied.

"Good. Then I hope you can also understand that I would have waited, given the choice, to consummate our marriage, but I have been expressly ordered to complete the bonding tonight."

"And because of the fertility ritual, I'll likely fall pregnant right?"

"Well, yes, it's very probable that you will. Hermione, are you, I mean I know your not a virgin, not really." He said thinking of what she had endured in Azkaban. "But, aside from those assaults in prison, are you untouched, inexperienced?"

Hermione flushed. "Yes." She whispered. Rabastan had assumed as much, but now felt like an even bigger arse then he had before she confirmed that small piece of information.

"I know that you have no reason to trust me, but I hope that you will, I want this to be a real marriage, not one where I set you aside when you provide an heir, and I don't want you to hate me for the rest of our lives either. I promise you that I will make this as easy for you as possible, but we do need to…" he hesitated, trying to find the right word.

"Fuck? Yeah I got that." Hermione replied bitterly. "Well, shall we get to it then?" she hissed out. He sighed deeply, way to make him feel like even more of a cradle robbing rapist, he thought.

"We can wait until you are ready tonight." He replied.

"Well I'm not going to be ready, my lord." She said, "I'm not ever going to be ready for this with you. Let me enunciate this for you in words you will understand, you are a monster, you have tormented me for years, you have forced me to marry you and to bear your children, and I despise your very existence. I would rather be dead than be within a foot of you. So seeing as I have no choice, this is as ready as I'll ever be," Hermione shouted in agitation. Despite being frustrated, disappointed and even irritated, he chuckled, because standing before him now was his Hermione, his witch, full of power, fire and loathing for him. She was back, but now he had to tame her.

He crossed the room, and before she even had time to contemplate what was happening, was pressing her against the wall his mouth crashing down against hers. This kiss wasn't gentle, slow, or sweet like the one at the ceremony. This kiss was full of need and passion, anger and desire, and he groaned when the witch unfroze and actually began to kiss him back. He couldn't believe that she was.

When his tongue met hers after some prompting from him to open up, she made a soft sound, sort of like a strangled groan, and it sent a wave of heat straight down to his groin, which hardened in response.

He broke the kiss and pulled back to stare into her eyes. Hermione was panting now, breathless from snogging him. She was annoyed because as much as she despised the circumstances, her body was responding to him just fine. she assumed there was something in the ritual that caused this reaction.

"Let me help you with your dress." He suggested. Hermione only nodded in acceptance, knowing she would have to anyway, and turned around. He began unlacing the ties on her corset and loosening the gown before pulling it down so that it pooled at her feet.

She was naked save for a scrappy piece of lace that he supposed was meant to be knickers. She stood shivering before him and he was sure it wasn't because of the cold. He made an appreciative sound as he took in her body, bared to him, her perky breasts with hardened peaks that he couldn't wait to suck on and her glorious pale skin with a scattering of freckles here and there.

He shrugged out of his own jacket and dress shirt to unveil himself to her, in an attempt to ease more of her fears. When it only seemed to make her more nervous he leaned in to capture her lips again. Then he planted kisses down her jaw, to her neck and finally to those deliciously pink buds, which he gently sucked into his mouth and lavished attention on. As he did her body trembled and her breath hitched. He pulled away and reached a hand out to her, which she reluctantly took a moment later and led her over to lay on the bed. He continued his worship of her breasts and kissed his way down her body, kissing her thighs before pulling the scrap of white lace down her legs and licking at her wet slit.

He licked at the pink folds and parted them with his tongue to thrust in and out of her as he nibbled at her soft flesh. His efforts were rewarded with a loud moan from the witch as his fingers rubbed circles around her clit and continued until she was shuddering and panting beneath him before finally bringing her over the edge. The witch whimpered as she came before mumbling a muffled plea for him.

"It's time." He said gently. He couldn't wait anymore and pulled his trousers down and away freeing his large turgid cock from the prison of material. He never usually bothered with undergarments, so he was ready for her. He aligned his erection at her slick entrance and she tensed immediately. "I'll go slow" he reassured.

Rabastan was well endowed, a fact that he was normally proud of, but tonight wished that maybe he wasn't so intimidating with 10 inches of hardened flesh that was obviously very frightening to her. He slowly slid into her. He wasn't worried about hurting her. She had been raped enough that he knew the feel of a penis inside of her wouldn't hurt her much. He wanted for her to enjoy the feel of it, something he was certain she never had before. When he was all the way in her hot wet sheath he whispered in her ear.

"Wrap your legs around me." Hermione did, bringing her heels to rest against his arse, as he pulled out slowly before pushing back inside slowly. She moaned as he groaned. He repeated the movement, sure to hit her g-spot. He also used his thumb to stimulate her clit and kept a slow and steady pace.

"Please." Hermione begged, hating herself for it.

"Please what?" He asked, needing to know what she wanted, what would bring her closer to the edge.

"Faster, a little harder." She elaborated and Rabastan happily obliged, drawing out and thrusting back in, increasing his tempo and ensuring he was balls deep inside her in one steady motion.

She unraveled beneath him with a long, content sigh, and he continued to push in an out of her for several more minutes until he reached his own release. He stilled in her, buried to the hilt as he came, pumping his hot, white seed into her.

He rolled off of her a minute later, trying to catch his breath. That had been absolutely wonderful. he thought, and the witch was more responsive then he had expected her to be. But his contentment was short lived as Hermione drew her knees to her chin and hugged her legs to her, cuddled on her side, her back to him, body shaking with the silent sobs.

"It's done." He sighed and rose from the bed. He walked away from her to go and draw her a bath. Blast it all, he thought as he began to run the taps and pour in potions and other soothing essentials to help her relax. He had actually let himself believe she was back for a moment, but he realized that despite her responsiveness to him, despite her anger and resentment, that she was still very fragile. It was too soon, he knew it would be. His witch was used for her body, over and over again in that hell-hole, sex wouldn't be something that made her feel good. And even though he had done what he could to make it pleasurable for her, the act itself was still not enjoyable and he couldn't hate himself more than he did at that moment.

When the tub was filled he went back into the bedroom and lifted her up into his arms. She murmured a muffled protest, but he ignored her as he set her into the water, and positioned himself in it behind her. She was struggling against him, still crying, and Rabastan just closed his arms around her to pull her against him.

"I'm sorry." he whispered to her. "I'm so sorry."

"Are you?" She asked, "Are you Really? I mean you have what you want."

"Yes, I wanted you Hermione, and yes now I have you as my wife, but please believe me that I don't want to hurt you, that I'm going to care for you. I promise you now, that I won't touch you like that again until you are ready, unless I'm ordered to."

"He doesn't care if you raped me or not, does he?" She sobbed.

"No," Rabastan replied honestly. "He didn't require you to be willing, just that the deed was done."

"I accept your promise, then" She replied. He didn't say anything back to her, just waited for her to relax enough in the water, which she did a few minutes later. Eventually she asked him. "Why did you omit the part of the vows about correcting and disciplining my disobedience? From what I've read it's a major part of the ceremony, for the wizard to have control over his wife."

"I don't want you obligated to be obedient, nor do I really want you to obey my every whim, I'm not seeking to control you." he explained.

"I," She cut off. "I appreciate it." She said, expressing her gratitude even though she didn't want to be thanking him. She realized that even though her situation wasn't ideal, that it could be even worse, and that he had consciously thought about how she would feel about being compelled to do whatever he said. It's more than she could have expected from any of the others.

Rabastan grunted in acknowledgement and tightened his embrace slightly. Hermione allowed the hot water to sooth her, and even though she was married to man she didn't love, or particularly trust, relaxed for a moment. It had been a long and trying day.


	5. How Does One Keep House?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to Venomandvine for being an awesome beta reader. Thank you for all of you love and support.

How Does One Keep House?

The next morning proved to be awkward for the newly wedded couple. Rabastan was unfamiliar with waking up next to somebody. He had certainly known his fair share of women, between his playboy youth and the revels of both wars, he wasn't unaccustomed to the company of women. However, Rabastan had always sent the witches packing before he went to bed. Waking up next to Hermione was an anomaly. The bottom line was Hermione was the first witch he had slept next to and woken up with in a long time. Hermione was still sleeping when he woke, so he padded across the floor to the shower, he still had bath oil in his hair from holding Hermione last night. When he had finished he didn't check to see that Hermione was laying on the bed, her eyes opened, he just dropped the towel to the floor.

"OH MY GODRIC!" he heard her gasp. Not at all uncomfortable in the nude, he didn't make haste to pull his pants on, but knowing his bride was unhappy he didn't take his sweet time either. "Do you have to do that right where I can see?" she hissed at him.

"Apologies Madame," he said holding in a chuckle of amusement, "I did not know you were awake."

"Well why didn't you bring your clothes in there with you?"

"I didn't want to get them wet." He replied with a smirk. She glared at him. "I'm glad you up actually. We need to be getting home so get dressed and we can eat dinner with the guests downstairs."

"Joy," was her sarcastic reply.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked. She shrugged. He was about to continue his questioning of her, when she verbally responded.

"I'm okay. Sore, I guess, but I'll live."

"I'll see you get a pain potion." He said. "Are you okay?" They both knew that he wasn't asking about her physical well-being any longer. It took her awhile to respond.

"I'm confused," She sighed. "I'm angry, resentful and frustrated all of the time, but I'm also grateful because I'm being treated well, and because I know that you saved me from more than just Azkaban, but I feel guilty about being grateful because I feel like I'm betraying my beliefs, and those of my friends." She explained. He nodded once. He could understand that. He was happy she was honest with him because it meant that this arrangement was off to a better start then it could be, but there really wasn't anything he could say to help her feel any better either.

"Okay." He said. "Well Madame, I'll leave you to dress. I'll be outside when you are ready." He closed the door behind him and leaned against the frame, waiting for her to finish, serving guard between his innocent wife and the other men who were depraved enough to enter uninvited.

Hermione didn't have much of an option. There was only one dress hanging in the wardrobe, an elegant tea length day dress of icy blue chiffon. She supposed that Narcissa had seen to it that she would have an outfit for the morning after. The elves already packed up the rest of her new clothes for the move to her new home. She quickly donned the garment, and the matching heeled pumps that were present as well, before she muttered the standard hair and cosmetic charms that she had been made to memorize. Once she was ready to go, she opened the door to the room to find Rabastan waiting outside as he said he would.

"You look stunning," he complimented.

"Thank you, my lord."

"You can call me Rabastan you know, Hermione. I am your husband."

"It would be unseemly to refer to you by name in public my lord."

"Okay then." He offered her his arm which she accepted timidly and they walked together towards the dining hall, the lump growing larger in her throat as they descended.

Nothing had prepared them for what the dark lord had in store for them that morning at breakfast.

"Good morning, my dear." Greeted Narcissa after they had sat at the table. "That dress is lovely on you."

"Thank you Aunt Cissa, I'm glad you choose it for me today." She replied politely.

The dark lord didn't attend meals, and was notably absent from the table that morning. He no longer required food, being resurrected, and had the misfortunate tendency to put off the appetites of others when he was present. His absence wasn't the only one. The death eaters who had made arseholes of themselves at the feast the night before, Rowle and his cronies, were also missing. Breakfast was, therefore, a quiet affair. Hungry because she hadn't eaten much at dinner, Hermione gladly filled her plate with the bacon, eggs, sausage, and hash browns, as well as some fruit and poured herself a glass of coffee, which was intercepted by her husband. He placed a glass of pumpkin juice in front of her instead. She glared at him.

"No risks, Madame." He whispered. "We do not yet know if yesterday's ritual was effective or not, but we should proceed with caution until we do know for sure."

Hermione didn't argue because she knew he was logically correct. It didn't stop her from being annoyed by not being able to indulge in her morning obsession, but she knew caffeine was bad for babies. So on the off chance the ritual did bear fruit, no pun intended, she really should act as though she were pregnant. Of course neither she, nor Rabastan or any of the guests knew that they would know for certain before they left the manor that morning. Instead of lingering over the fact she couldn't drink coffee, she looked around the dining room.

Many of the guests who were present for the wedding ceremony the previous night had departed for their own homes, so it was a great relief to Hermione that it wasn't a grand affair for her to be presented that morning. It was quiet conversation between Narcissa, Lucius, Rabastan, Draco, Theo (who had left his wife in their rooms), and Astoria Greengrass, Draco's intended. Hermione had not spoken at all with her former rival, but she guessed that he had been avoiding her as well. Though, at any rate, he seemed to hold less animosity for her. Hermione choose to silently enjoy her breakfast, indulging in the items she had loaded her plate with. Rabastan was pleased to see her eating. The table had just been cleared when the dark lord entered the room. Immediately the entire room rose from their chairs in respect.

"Ah, the young Mistress Lestrange," the snakelike wizard headed straight towards Hermione.

"My Lord," She mumbled, sinking into a curtsey.

"Let's see how well your husband did his duty, shall we?" He asked, but before she, or anyone could respond entered her mind to see, to her mortification, the intimacy that had occurred in the bedroom. Rabastan tightened his hold on her in a way that told her he was furious, when he felt his lord enter his own mind, but tried to refrain from showing it, and she knew her face was red. "It seems he did well," Voldemort chuckled as he made the announcement to the entire room.

Nervous laughter sounded at her expense, before he cast a dark spell over her. She felt the magic wash over her, cold, dark, evil, his signature she realized, a moment before her abdomen began to glow. It was an early detection charm for conception, banned in the medieval times because it was a dark spell meant for witches to detect a pregnancy early and be able to rid of it properly.

"It also would seem that his seed is plentiful indeed, and you will bear him many children and future followers for me." The horrible man cackled, but Hermione didn't hear him. She was still staring at the residual glow from her stomach. She was pregnant. She suspected she would be, but Hermione was in shock from what had just occurred. Swaying on her feet, she was vaguely aware of her new husband helping her back into her chair. The dark lord swept out of the room as suddenly as he had come, and soon after Narcissa moved to action.

"Out, everybody out." She hollered at the guests present as Hermione began to hyperventilate. It wasn't over being pregnant, after the fertility ritual it would have been surprising to not be. Considering the way she was informed, she was overwhelmed. She was panicking now because of the way she was all but put on display and offered up to the deatheaters. She was offered water from Rabastan, which she drank down greedily. Once she had calmed, Narcissa took her face in her palms and looked her in the eyes with a smile.

"Congratulations my girl. I know it was an awful way to find out, but just think of what a blessing this is." Hermione nodded not trusting herself to speak. "Lucius and I have a wedding present for you." Narcissa continued. "Notty." The witch called, and a moment later a house elf that had been Hermione's helper during her stay appeared. "You would please me and your master greatly by allowing yourself to be bound to a new mistress."

"Narcissa, I do have elves of my own." Rabastan sounded, a little put out by the concept of being gifted an elf. The blonde witch ignored him.

"Notty would you be agreeable to becoming Mistress Lestrange's personal elf?" Narcissa asked the creature.

"Oh yes, mistress. Missy Hermione very nice and Notty be wanting to care for her." The elf agreed excitedly.

"Very well then, Hermione my dear girl, Notty will now serve as your ladies elf, as she has done since you arrived."

"Thank you, Narcissa." Hermione replied graciously. She had grown fond of Notty in her time here and was glad to have at least one friend to bring with her to her new home. If one could consider a house elf a friend.

"Of course, my dear. Well now, I think we ought to let you both get settled into your new home. Congratulations again Hermione." The elder witch said before she left the room.

"Notty," Rabastan said, "please go to Lestrange Hall and let our head elf Zilly know your new position." Notty didn't react right away but looked to her new mistress.

"It's okay Notty. Please do as he says." Hermione ordered.

Notty popped out, obviously to do as she was bid.

"I've had our elves collect your belongings and bring them to our estate." Rabastan informed her. "If you are quite ready we may depart ourselves at any time."

"If you don't mind, Rabastan," Hermione said using his given name, causing him to quirk a small, half smile. "I could use a moment longer."

"As you wish," He allowed. Hermione used the extra time to drink some more water and just have an undisturbed moment to breathe. When she was as relaxed as she was going to be she nodded and took her husband's hand. Rabastan led her out of the anti-aparation wards and once clear took her hand and disapparated them both in a cloud of black matter to her new home.

 

They arrived in the gardens. Rabastan took a moment to explain while she regained her equilibrium that the Lestrange family members were the only ones allowed to apparate directly onto the grounds or within the estate itself, much like at Malfoy Manor. Since she was now his wife, she would now be able to as well. When the nausea from being side-alonged faded, Hermione took the first look at the structure that was Lestrange Hall. It appeared as though it was a cross between an old medieval fortress and a Tudor era hunting lodge. It wasn't unmanageably large, but it wasn't small by any means either. Behind where they stood, in what she supposed was the front courtyard was a large wrought iron gate wedged between two massive stone pillars which were attached to a stone wall around the whole perimeter of the estate. Before them was an ancient, ivy covered, stone tower. On each side of it was a rectangular structure made of brick only half the size of the tower. She could see the historic influence and renovations of two different periods. It was breathtaking, and she couldn't hold in her gasp of wonder.

"It's something's isn't it?" Rabastan asked, attempting to gauge her reaction.

"It is that. Beautiful." The witch gasped in awe at the marvelous building before her.

They tracked up the gravel path towards the residence where on the steps the entire staff of elves were assembled to greet them. Rabastan introduced her to several of them and they all hummed in praise over their new mistress.

Rabastan escorted her around the house on an official tour. The main floor was the standard pureblood interior design of a dining room, the kitchens and a drawing room, and, of course, a small conservatory overlooking the back gardens. The second level housed the library, Rabastan's study and down a large hallway a forbidden ward.

"Hermione, you must never go down into the west wing of the floor, firstly it has some very dark family heirlooms I don't want you anywhere near. Secondly, Rodolphus resides in this ward of the estate and he harbors some resentment to my new status and towards you. He's unpredictable, I will take no chances of him taking his residual frustrations out on you."

"I promise."

The third level was their personal living space. She was first shown her own personal set of rooms, which shocked her.

"I hope one day you won't require them, but for now I realize you need your own space. There is an adjoining door to my own rooms, however rest assured I will respect your privacy."

"Thank you." Hermione choked out, eyes tearing up.

Then the darker aspect, the absolute reminder as to why exactly she was here. The nursery. That room itself was not so bad, however, the room next door was. The birthing chamber.

"Oh hell no." She exclaimed before she could hold it back.

"Every Lestrange heir, and child has been born in this room. The tradition will continue, Madame." Rabastan clipped. "I will have you know that you are lucky that you won't have an audience for the births. Not so long ago that to was tradition." Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"I'm sorry." She apologized. "I just wasn't expecting this. I always thought any child I had would be born at St. Mungos."

"As if," he said. "Too common." Oh yes, she thought. She was a pureblood's wife and a legalized pureblood herself. She was expected to act as arrogant as he did. But this was asking a lot. "Of course, you needn't worry, you will have the best medical care here at home."

"Oh. Of course," she replied. That statement may have ended the potential argument, however it did not alleviate any feelings of animosity towards her husband, or likewise irritation from Rabastan towards her. So the rest of the day was spent with the aftereffects of the disagreement, in relative silence which was only broken in a quiet but brisk tone when Rabastan explained something about the home. So far the marriage was off to a wonderful start.

The tower, the final destination of the tour, wasn't particularly noteworthy after the revelation of the birthing room. The upper level served as storage and the roof's lookout points reminiscent of generations long since gone. The dust and musty odor evidence that both were seldom used in these modern times, though Hermione imaged them as they would have once been, lively, warm and with splendor. The middle and lower levels housed lavishly decorated guest rooms and the sparse and mostly vacant elf quarters. In the basement were the dungeons, which she wasn't shown and expressly forbidden by her husband from exploring. He assumed she would even want to.

When the tour was completed, Hermione retreated to her own rooms, unable to stand his presence and the tense air between them since the scene at the birthing chamber. She explored her own rooms which were very feminine in design. The floor was lined with soft, warm white carpeting and the walls were a soft lilac color. The room had a large window seat overlooking the courtyard, which looked comfortable with the plush overlay and decorative throw pillows. It would be a good spot for reading, she thought. The room was dominated mostly by the presence of the large four poster bed, with floral sheets and included an stately wardrobe which already housed her new clothes she discovered upon opening it. Attached to her bedchamber was a master ensuite bathroom with a large bathtub, cool white tiled floors, a double sink and vanity counter. Another door opened to reveal a small sitting room similar to the setup of a common room at Hogwarts, with a grand fireplace, a writing desk, a couch and chairs furnished and colored with more earth tones. A door from there led to the nursery she saw when she opened it. She supposed that the one door she had not opened in her bedroom was the adjoining door to her husband's rooms.

Hermione settled into a chair in the sitting room and curled her feet up under her. She opened the little black leather bound diary she had been gifted, and began to write down her thoughts on the past couple of days. The witch recorded the marriage ceremony, the events of the consummation on her wedding night, her arrival here at Lestrange Hall and how grand the estate was. The head house-elf, Zilly, had informed her of what some of her duties would include. Narcissa had also explained the things pureblood ladies oversaw in the home, which usually entailed the house elves duties, menu planning, social events and the likes. It made Hermione wonder, how she was supposed to keep a house so large in order, when she was unused to such grandeur. At Hogwarts she spent her days keeping Ron and Harry out as much trouble as possible, but for all intents and purposes was still very much looked after herself. She grew up in a privileged muggle household, but there she had her parents to take care of her, that is until she obliviated them before the war really began.

Hermione had not grown up where she was waited on hand and foot by servants. Now she was not only being attended to, but was expected to supervise them. It was all a lot to take in, and she felt like she was drowning. For as much as the new estate, and new life made her into a fairy princess from the muggle fairy tales she had loved as a child, she couldn't help but feel as though this new life was her gilded cage. Like a princess locked in a tower, waiting until the day the prince came to save her. Except her prince was dead, she had seen him fall in battle and she knew she had no savior now. It was a sad realization, and when it hit her she lost herself to the salty, bitter tears.


	6. How do you coexsist?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to VenomandVine: my awesome beta.

From the window in her personal sitting room she could see that the sun was setting. Had the day gone by already, Hermione wondered. She had long since finished writing in her journal and tucked it into a little drawer in the desk, before returning to the chair she had occupied since leaving Rabastan at the end of the hall. The sight of the twilight hued sky was enough to cause Hermione's stomach to grumble, the setting sun seeming to announce that she hadn't eaten since morning, and touring the grounds was quite extensive and expended a fair amount of energy.

Notty popped into her room almost as soon as the sky was completely dark.

"Notty not meaning to interrupt young mistress, but new master requires mistress's presence at dinner tonight." The elf squeaked nervously.

"It's fine Notty. Shall we go then?" She asked still dressed in her day wear, which was now wrinkled and somewhat frumpy looking from sitting bunched up in the material all afternoon.

"Oh no Mistress. You musts not goes to dinner like that!" The elf exclaimed with a horrified squeak. Hermione sighed. Of course not, she thought. She had hoped that now that Cissa was not underfoot all the time, constantly correcting her on something that perhaps she could get away with a casual dinner, but it seemed that pureblooded notions about dressing were not dinner was not just upheld in the Malfoy's residence.

"Well then, I suppose I should dress." Hermione muttered more to herself than the elf, and stalked towards the bedroom over to the wardrobe selecting a green cocktail dress, It fell to her knees, was long sleeved and made of lace. The dress really was quite pretty, but Hermione didn't care. She muttered a spell at her hair to tame the curls, and checked that her face was appropriately made up. Satisfied she turned to face Notty.

"Yes, you will do, now Mistress."

"Thank you Notty. I can make my own way to dinner." Hermione replied cordially. The elf disapparated and with a great shuddering sigh, Hermione held her head high, squared her shoulders and made her way around the home to the dining room.

 

Rabastan stood as she appeared in the doorway. He was across the long table from where the door opened, at what she supposed was the head of the table. She nodded her head in acknowledgment, before she headed towards the nearest chair to her, by the door, at the foot of the table. She didn't hear the small sound he made, his tongue clicking against his teeth in annoyance, but she did see him cross from his side of the table to her own. He clasped her arm in his, firmly but gently, as he pulled her upwards to stand.

"Madame, I have a place already set for you down here, next to me, where my wife should sit." He said not unkindly, but in a voice that brooked no argument. Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at him, but allowed him none-the-less to lead her to the other end.

After everything that had occurred between them and the events of the disagreement upstairs in the birthing room, Hermione was overwhelmed and wanted to put as much space between herself and her new husband as possible. He obviously had other ideas, so she eased herself into the chair he pulled out for her without a word. She still had yet to actually say anything to him since arriving.

"Did you have a peaceful afternoon?" He asked once he had reseated himself by his own plate. She shrugged. This time she did hear the cluck of irritation he made. "How did you spend it?" He asked, ensuring that there was no means for her to respond using body language or simple one-worded answers.

"I didn't do much." She replied dully. "I sat in the sitting room."

"Oh? What did you think of it?" He inquired.

"It's nice." Hermione said, keeping things simple. Rabastan was trying, he really was, but the witch was making it difficult for him not to lose his cool.

"Hermione," he warned.

"What?" She huffed in irritation. Well, there at least was some reaction. He bit his inner cheek to keep himself in check.

"I'm trying to be cordial here. I must say you are being rather rude and I would like for you to try at civility as well."

"Oh? We are being civil now? Because you see, earlier you made it seem as though I was a burden you had to carry around who doesn't even get the courtesy of making decisions for herself." Hermione clipped.

"Fuck it all," Rabastan growled. "This will end now."

"I quite agree. I'll go back to being silent. It will be easier." She affirmed hotly and as her last words died a figure entered the dining room and stalked towards them.

"Brother." The new arrival greeted as he took his chair across from Hermione. "Madame. I'm not late am I?" Rodulphus question in a bored tone as if he didn't particularly care one way or another. Rabastan sighed obviously on edge by his presence and none too pleased to have the budding argument with Hermione interrupted by his arrival. However, it was still his brother's right to eat in the dining room at meal times.

"No, you are not. The elves haven't served dinner yet." He answered his brother.

"Good. Though I hope they don't take much longer. I am ravenous." He said.

Hermione sat rigid in her chair. She knew that Rodulphus was Rabastan's brother of course, he'd been at the wedding, but she was still very uncomfortable in his presence.

"No, it shouldn't be much longer." Rabastan agreed and then asked. "Are you hungry Ma cherie?"

"Yes my Lord." Hermione replied.

Rodolphus laughed openly and loudly at that. "Fuck, she's dressed like one, she talks like one, she even looks like a pureblood now." He exclaimed. Hermione clenched her teeth and held her tongue.

"Rod." Rabastan hissed. It was a clear message of caution.

"Fuck what a piece of paper says!" Rodulphus goaded, "A scrap of paper does not change the filth in her blood, and you dishonor our house by breeding with one of her kind."

Hermione was furious. She was tempted to take the shining, silver knife and cut her palm just to show her blood was as red as theirs. Fingers itching closer to the sharp tool, she stopped only because the dishes before them were suddenly filled with food.

"That is enough Rod." Rabastan barked. "One more word about this and I'll report you to our lord myself. Do you want to end up in Azkaban?"

Hermione didn't look to see the angry flash in her brother-in-law's eyes or the quick flood of fear moments before that. She busied herself with piling the Sheppard's pie, roasted vegetables and bread onto her plate. The two wizard's quickly followed suit and the rest of the meal was conducted in silence. When she had cleared her plate, she rose from the table, and years of proper manners and upbringing forced the two brothers to their feet as well. Hermione retreated from the room and back upstairs to hide in her own chambers, without a backward glance.

 

It didn't take long. Maybe ten minutes, before the sharp knock sounded on her door. Hermione knew that he would come. They had been on the cusp of an argument downstairs before Rodolphus appeared and she had assumed he would come to finish it. It was abundantly clear that they needed to communicate, but Hermione didn't really want to.

She opened the door slowly.

"May I come in?" Rabastan asked quietly.

"It's your house." She replied with a shrug as she moved to let him in.

"I've already told you I will respect your space Ma cherie." He replied as he closed the door behind him.

"Forgive me for not trusting you." The witch retorted. He sighed.

"I don't want to argue. We need to talk, but can we please agree to do it without harsh words?"

"We can try." She said.

"Good." He replied. "To begin, we need to resolve the issue of the nursery."

"I wasn't aware there was anything to resolve. You made it perfectly clear what I am expected to do." Hermione glared.

"Yes, well. That is true, and I'm not going to change my mind either. However, I didn't explain myself very well, and I reacted poorly towards you when you questioned it. I'm sorry." He apologized.

Hermione blinked. Then nodded, not needing to verbally accept his apology. "So where does that leave us?" She asked.

"Why are you hesitant to give birth at home?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"I can't say. I just always pictured I'd have children in a hospital. Home births are not all that common anymore in the muggle world." She explained.

"So it isn't from a fear?"

"No. Not really. It just seems unnatural to me. And you had surprised me is all. I didn't mean to question your tradition." Hermione whispered.

"I can't really fault you. I didn't think, that for you this is all like your muggle middle-ages." He acknowledged.

"Yeah, it really is. I mean I live in a bloody castle, I'm trussed up like a princess, I'm married to a lord, and I'm meant to spend my days managing the household, bearing rearing children. It is pretty comparable to the middle ages." She smiled to show that she wasn't speaking out of anger or resentment, it was a truly good example. Rabastan quirked a small smirk himself.

"Okay, so I don't know how to explain this tradition. It has just always been done, and as it has always been done, I never questioned it. I was born in that chamber, Rod was born there, my father was, Bella miscarried there twice." Hermione hissed at the mention of the insane woman "Sorry. It's important to me that my children, the future Scion of our house, and any siblings he has, be born there as well."

"Fine. I'm not saying no to it, I was never going to say no. I just didn't know what to think." Hermione replied, and he nodded accepting that.

"I just want to assure you that even though, as you say a home birth wasn't something you had envisioned for yourself that you would still have the very best of the best of medical treatment. Anything you would receive at St. Mungo's will be administered hear and it will be far more private. I know I made a snarky comment about being lucky you wouldn't have an audience… and yes at one point in time that did occur, but not for generations. I wouldn't do that."

"Okay." Hermione allowed. "I understand."

"Are you settling in okay?" He eventually asked after several moments of quiet between them.

"It's hard to say." Hermione informed. "I feel out of place. But I would be lying if I said I didn't like the house." Hermione replied. She was surprising herself at how easy it was to talk civility to this wizard. She felt that it shouldn't be so natural. On the few occasions they had met before, he was attempting to kill her. They were enemies, and Hermione was hell-bent on turning him over to the aurors. Now they were married, and while perhaps not the most conventional, the conversation was mostly awkward but still pleasant. they weren't spitting venom at each other.

"It is a nice estate." He commented.

"How can this be so simple?" She muttered.

"What?"

"Talking to you?" She elaborated. "We are not fighting."

"I am tired of fighting. I didn't request your hand so I could hold power over you and throw insults your way. I want to put the past behind us."

"I don't think I can." She said. "Not that I won't try to, but you managed to erase my whole life with a piece of paper, it's not that simple for me, even if it is for you. I can't forget that easily."

"I could help you." He offered. Hermione realized what he meant. He was saying he could obliviate her, clean her mind of all of her memories, all of the stuff she was no longer allowed to call her own. She shuddered at the thought, thinking of her parents, she couldn't have done what she did to them. She shook her head.

"No. I don't want to forget." She told him.

"If you ever change your mind..." He trailed off.

"I will let you know." She commented and then yawned. Rabastan stood from the chair he had occupied in the sitting room, and bowed slightly.

"I will leave you to your rest, Ma Cherie." Rabastan decided. "Breakfast is in the dining room at 9. Please be there, we still have much to discuss."

"I will see you in the morning, My Lord."

"Hermione, when we are home, I'd appreciate if you would call me Rabastan."

"Rabastan." Hermione amended. He smiled and they parted ways as he crossed through the adjoining door to his own room.

 

Tired as she may have been, Hermione did not go to bed. Her mind was still too active to sleep. She wondered how they were supposed to coexist. They were very different people, and they were thrown together to live out the rest of their lives.

Hermione's life was in shambles. She wasn't stupid, she knew she could never go back to the way things were before. When she saw Harry fall, for the second time, a piece of her died inside as well. And then Ron… Losing her other best friend, despite the fact that they had ups and downs, more often than she had ever had with Harry, was still painful to recall. She wanted to die then herself once they were gone. She was broken, tired of fighting, and had lost the driving force that kept carrying her on . With them gone, she had nothing to live for.

But no, she hadn't been killed, she had been sent to Azkaban. There was no way that after the battle and after a year in prison she was ever going to put the pieces of herself back together. Her soul was fragmented, and all she could do was look forward and try to mend the pieces as best she could.

The question was, could she do that with Rabastan. Could she replace her love for Ron, the man she had hoped to marry and pined after for years with the wizard who had his wand at her neck the first time she made his acquaintance? Could she find new friends to make up for the lost friendships? Could Narcissa replace her parents?

No. The answer was no. And she felt like she was betraying them all for even considering it. But she was alone, isolated and abandoned in a life she had never thought she would have. If she wanted to survive she would have to adapt. She only hoped she would be forgiven for it in the end.

And she wasn't without realization that this life was a little better. A dark part of her subconscious reminded her that if she was considered a pureblood she wouldn't be persecuted. With Harry dead, there was no more war. No fighting, no starving and freezing in a tent in the woods. No more trying to run and hide from the dark wizards who even now adopted her into their society. There was a sick sense of giddy in that for Hermione, and that scared her.

The potential to just up and walk away from everything she once believed to be amongst the people she had once despised, was a sweet temptation dangling before her, but that would be the ultimate betrayal. So Hermione was going to have to try and get along in this new world without letting herself convert into one of them completely. For the sake of her own sanity she couldn't let it go that far.

But how to do you coexist with somebody you once hated.? How to you continue to hate someone who took you out of the frozen tundra from one of the circles of hell? How do you live with feelings that are always contradicting each other? How do you thrive in a word that is the absence of light and life?

Quietly Hermione padded from her sitting room to the library. She couldn't sleep and she didn't want to think anymore so she was going to choose a book. She found one easily, Hogwarts a History, her all-time favorite. The sight of the tome was enough to make Hermione feel a little better, as she hugged it to her chest. She had to pass Rabastan's study on the way back. The door was cracked open and she could see the light from the fireplace. She paused, catching tidbits of voices.

"How could you? …. A mudblood?" A voice Hermione didn't recognize seemed to shout.

"I don't expect you to understand, nor do I require your blessing father." Rabastan said wearily.

Hermione quickly continued down the hallway, not wanting to be caught and once safe in her bed called for her elf. When Notty appeared Hermione relaxed slightly.

"Notty, where are my pajama's?" Hermione asked. Notty snapped her boney fingers and the warm, cotton, majestic purple, matching set flew out from one of the drawers in the wardrobe. Hermione sighed happily, after the raggedy, paper thin, and scratch prison uniform, waking up in these at Malfoy manor had been a great relief. It was a luxury Hermione immensely enjoyed. She slipped them on quickly and then turned to her elf.

"Notty, would you please send for some hot cocoa and biscuits from the kitchens, I think it will help me sleep."

"Yes Mistress!" Notty said and disappeared at once. Hermione dropped the charms that held her hair and make-up in place and settled herself into the bed and the comfortable sheets. A moment later the hot chocolate arrived.


	7. How do you Retaliate Without a Wand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for all of my readers and the feedback you guys are giving this story. I also want to thank, give a round of applause and a huge hug to my beta VenomandVine for all of the work and love she gives the story as she edits it. Here is chapter 7's update, I am so sorry for the delay in posting the past week, but here you are now. I hope you all enjoy.

How do you Retaliate Without a Wand?

Rabastan didn't go to bed immediately after leaving Hermione in her rooms. The hour was still early and he had several duties to oversee, so he made his way to his study. The room was cozy and masculine with dark wood walls and thick, earth toned carpeting. Dozens of portraits adorned the walls, most of which threw sneers at him as he sat behind the desk. He ignored them as he set to work managing the families investments, but when his father began berating him, there was no tuning him out.

Rabastan's father had been a terrifying man, obstinate in his ways and a firm believer in blood-purity. He was a wizard who punished first and asked questions later. Rabastan had been on the receiving end of his belt or his wand many, many times. He had never been a favorite child, Rodolphus had that privilege. Rod was, after all, the firstborn, the scion to their house and heir to the families vast fortune. Rabastan was just a necessary spare that his father could not be bothered with aside from correcting his childish behavior.

"You have some nerve sitting in that chair," hissed the angry voice of the man who raised him. Rabastan sighed.

"It is my chair now, father. Rod failed to hold it by not providing an heir, somebody has to." He replied to the portrait.

"And you think you have what it takes?" The angry picture shouted.

"Considering my new wife is already pregnant, I believe I do."

"And that!" His father spat out. "That is another issue entirely. How could you marry that? You think it's acceptable to bring a mudblood into our house?"

"She is a pureblood now, or didn't Rod tell you?"

"A Mudblood!" The frame shook as the deceased wizard insisted on his position.

"I don't expect you to understand father. Nor do I require your blessing. You are dead and what's done is done." Rabastan said wearily, not five minutes in and the argument was already wearing him down.

"Damn well you don't!" His father replied furiously. "I am still your father boy, and you will respect me. I can't believe you are actually breeding with it."

"What would you have me do? Let our line die out?" Rabastan asked finally.

"Better that than you sully the good name of this family! Trying to pass off whatever spawn you create with that filth as the heir, as legitimate. Half-blood mongrels. No better than a dog."

"Need I remind you, she is my wife, any children produced would in fact be legitimate. Also, Hermione is considered a pureblood so it doesn't even make my children half-bloods."

"A piece of paper does not a pureblood make. Her blood is still filthy and she is nothing more than dirt. You do your house a disservice by bringing her here." The portrait continued to argue.

"Enough!" Rabastan bellowed authoritatively. "Let me make myself abundantly clear father. You are dead, nothing more than a canvas full of paint, and very easy to dispose of. I am now the head of this house and I refuse to defend that to you or anyone else. One more word from you and I will order you removed from the wall and thrown in storage where the light doesn't shine."

"Rodulphus wouldn't let that happen!" the portrait started, but Rabastan interrupted.

"Rodolphus no longer has any say to stop me, so go ahead, give me a reason. Push me too far, father, and I'll see that you are set on fire!" Rabastan threatened. The portrait of Reginald Lestrange remained silent, knowing when he was defeated. Rabastan felt the tension dissipate from his body and went back to work, finishing the inventory report as quickly as possible.

When he finished, he made his way to his own bed as quickly as possible. Arranging himself in his bed his thought drifted to his pregnant wife. The way they discovered she was pregnant, was cruel, despite the ritual at the ceremony all but guaranteeing she would be with child by morning. Rabastan didn't find the circumstance ideal, if only because he wasn't sure where they stood or how she would cope. However, he was proud of how well she maintained her composure at breakfast when the dark lord shocked her with the revelation. The moment his master announced which ritual would be used he resigned himself that his heir would arrive earlier than anticipated, but he still felt a pang of guilt for what he had subjected Hermione to. She had not asked for any of this. He eventually fell asleep, resolving to speak with his wife about the whole situation.

 

Hermione awoke quite early the next day. She hadn't slept well, tossing and turning unable to shut her racing thoughts down enough to get some shut eye. The hot chocolate she ordered before bed had helped a bit. The warm milk in the beverage soothed her enough to not be so wound up and managed to make her eyelids droop just enough that she didn't get more than twenty pages read in Hogwarts a History. However, despite being tired and sleepy the thoughts poured in and sleep was inevitable, but she too exhausted to read.

Finally, just after dawn, she called it quits, the restlessness, the light streaming in from the window, and the sharp insistent pain in her forehead too much to contend with and still sleep. So she rose from the bed.

While Hermione had found her favorite book last night, and opted for the reassurance of an old friend, she also knew she need to seek out books that would give her insight into her current predicament; her pregnancy. As an only child she had never had the experience of seeing her mom pregnant. She had been surrounded by large families like the Weasley's growing up, but was never witness to any of the children's pregnancies or births, as she and Ginny were only a year apart. To put it frankly, she had no idea what to expect. Certainly she had seen many pregnant women in her 19 years of life, but the were strangers in passing or friends of her parents whom she never saw much. So here she was expecting a new baby, newly conceived, with only anecdotes and wives tales, like how her mum never ate pickles again after craving them all the time or how much morning sickness sucked. She wanted to find a book to better explain pregnancy so she could better prepare herself for what lay ahead.

She didn't particularly care for her appearance, she just wanted to get out of her rooms and may way for the library. The library at Lestrange Hall wasn't overly large, but was still housed more books than Hermione would own herself. She figured the actual amount of books there were comparable to a small bookshop. It had a warm and welcoming atmosphere, with a fireplace and sitting area, rich hues of autumn, golden yellows, burnt oranges, soft reds, and faded greens, with the aroma of parchment both fresh and old. It was the most happy and carefree she had felt in a considerably long time.

However, it soon became clear that the library would be no safe haven for her. She was alone, or so she thought, in the room early that morning. She had just located the section of books she sought when an annoyed, nasty sigh filled the quiet space. It was quickly followed by a sneered comment.

"Is it possible for me to go anywhere in this house that you are not?" Rodolphus, she realized. She turned to face him.

"I am told I had quite the reputation with your lot back in the day," Hermione mused, "my proclivity for reading should be enough warning for one to assume that anywhere there is a library, is where I'll be." It was sassy and sarcastic remark, so it didn't surprise her that it only fueled the dark, older wizard's discontent.

"You also had the reputation for being a good fuck when you were in prison. I've been meaning to test the theory." He leered at her, and only too late Hermione noticed that the burly wizard was too close, too quick for her to move past him.

"Too bad for you I'm married."

"That never stopped me," he threatened lowly and stepped closer. Feeling trapped and at a loss of what else to say, Hermione screamed. Later she would think that she could have hit him with a book. Unfortunately, the useful thoughts like that one normally only occurred after the fact. Rodolphus recoiled when she opened her lungs to the house and stepped away. It wouldn't do to have his brother find out his intentions.

"Just you wait little mudblood. My brother won't always be around to save you, and the next time I have you alone, I won't wait for you to scream." He warned right before Rabastan ran into the room.

Rabastan, not an idiot, didn't take long to sense what had transpired upon seeing Hermione backed into a bookcase, and Rodulphus hovering near her, a menacing expression on his features.

"Hermione," he said. "Go back to your room." The witch didn't move. "Now," He added. She shifted and moved towards him. He watched her until she vanished through the door before glaring at his brother.

He had to be careful with him, Rod was a Slytherin.

"Brother." He began calmly.

"Don't even start." His elder sibling spat.

"No. You don't get to down play it this time, Rod. I am not joking when I say that I will not hesitate to report you. Do not mess with my wife." He hissed.

"I don't consider her to be your wife. Bitch is a fucking mudblood."

"She is my wife. She is my pregnant wife and you will stay away from her. You have a small library in your own ward of the house, aside from meals there is no reason for you to enter this wing, and you deliberately did so to scare her. Do it again and you won't like what you happens."

"You are not always around, Bas." Rodolphus warned ominously.

"You really think I don't have a failsafe to protect her. I've been planning this for a long time, brother. Don't test me. Resent me all you want but you will treat Hermione with respect."

"She had a hand in killing Bella." The other wizard protested.

"You hated Bella. Told me you were glad she was dead, so don't even go there. Hermione is the lady of this house and she already carries the next heir, something you never provided. You can hate me for taking your place all you want, complain to father all you want, but she had better not face your retaliation."

"Fuck you." Rodolphus yelled.

"Yeah, fuck me. But she is off limits. Now go." Rabastan ordered and waited as his brother stomped off, back to his own level of the house. When he was sure Rodolphus was gone, he went off to find Hermione. He knocked on the adjoining bedroom door, assuming correctly, that it would ease her nerves less than if he knocked directly on her door.

 

He didn't wait for a reply before entering. She was curled on the bed with a bunch of books strewn around her, analyzing the titles.

"Hermione," he called out gently to grab her attention.

"I'm fine." She replied.

"What happened, exactly?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it damned well does." Rabastan growled.

"I was getting books, I wanted books on pregnancy, and he cornered me. I don't know what he intended, but I only have a wand that works for cosmetic and household charms, not my wand that I could hex his bollocks off with so I screamed before he could do anything."

"He threatened you." Rabastan said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed irritably. "Newsflash Rabastan, his wife tortured me, I helped kill her, I broke into your family vault at Gringotts, I'm not his favorite person, and he is bigger, stronger and more powerful than me and he knows it, so yes he threatened me."

"He shouldn't, but if he does bother you again, you must let me know immediately."

"Sure." She shrugged. "But little good that does me if I can't protect myself against him."

"You already know I can't give you your wand back yet." Rabastan explained as if she were a child, slow to understand.

"And why not?" Her temper flared. "That paper tells me that I'm a pureblood, with no outstanding criminal record, and no longer wanted for any reason. Why shouldn't I have a wand, like every other lady out there?"

"Because not every witch in our circle was Potter's best friend." Rabastan said coldly.

"Exactly, as I thought. That paper changes nothing, I'm still considered a threat, and I'm still being punished for it. You took me away from one prison, but I'm still a prisoner just with a considerably larger, nicer cage." Hermione bit out.

"I'll see you at breakfast, Madame." Rabastan drawled, effectively ending the argument before he could lose his temper.

"Fine." His wife retorted. "Walk away and don't acknowledge the truth." Rabastan didn't dignify her outburst with a reply. He just walked out. It was only seven in the morning, and he had been asleep when she screamed. He wasn't going to get back to sleep, but he wasn't ready to start his day either.

He had to admit she was right, as angry as her commentary made him, she was spot on. He was withholding her wand from her, and she was a witch. She was no longer an inmate in Azkaban, and she was pardoned, and besides that, now married. She wore a bracelet that allowed him to find her anywhere she would be if she tried to run, which so far, she hadn't even attempted to do. It was true that Narcissa had provided a monitored wand capable of casting beauty and household charms. However, it wasn't capable of much else. He could see why Hermione, his brilliant and powerful witch, would only see it as a crappy placehold. It wouldn't accomplish any of the spells or charms she relied on normally.

The only reason he kept her wand away from her was because she was powerful and knew how to use it. He didn't want her to have the means to retaliate against him, and that wasn't fair because she hadn't given him any reason to fear her doing so. And with Rodolphus around, it would be a tool she could use to protect her.

 

Hermione was stewing in her room, waiting until breakfast would begin. She was mad in general, but not at Rabastan specifically. He just bore the brunt of her frustrations. He felt unsafe everywhere in this house, around these people. Rabastan was the only person, aside from Narcissa, who made an effort to make her feel comfortable and at ease, like she belonged. But she couldn't help feeling like she was still a prisoner when she didn't have her wand.

She dressed for breakfast. As she dug clothes out of the wardrobe, she cursed Narcissa for not allowing her pants. She was tempted to just go down in the pajamas she wore, but after the incident with the elder Lestrange, she didn't want to. Not that real clothes would be a barrier against him should he decide to come after her, but it made her at the very least feel more protected from his gaze that seemed to suggest he could see through her clothes. So she selected a skirt that fell to her knees in a pretty floral pattern, and paired it with a white cashmere sweater.

Using the wand that she had been given to comply with Narcissa's standards of being a proper lady, she glamoured her face to have eyeliner and mascara and a pale pink gloss on her lips. Then she charmed her hair to be free of frizz and have soft, shining ringlet curls falling down her back. Satisfied with her appearance, she knocked on the adjoining door to Rabastan's room.

She didn't want to be alone in the house, even for the walk down to the dining room, and she hoped that her husband hadn't left yet. It was just short of the hour breakfast was being served. A moment after her rap on the door, it opened and she was greeted by a half dressed Rabastan, his hair wavy and not yet brushed, still wet from his shower. She gaped at his well-toned chest, and he smirked slowly.

"Yes, Hermione?" He asked.

"Ummm, I was err, I was wondering if you would walk with me to breakfast. I don't want to walk alone in the halls." He frowned at her statement. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable in her own home.

"Sure. Just let me finish, and then I'll come through for you." He agreed.

"Of course. Thank you." Hermione stated as he closed the door. Hermione took those last few minutes to organize the books she had just grabbed from the library. Meanwhile Rabastan chuckled to himself, at her reaction to seeing his naked torso. On their wedding night, it had been dark, and he hadn't given her much opportunity to explore his assets, so he knew that was her first good look at him, and he was pleased that she seemed to like what she saw.

However, her statement that she was not willing to walk from her rooms to the dining room alone made him reach a decision. He wondered how she felt knocking on his door, asking him for help, even though she had been fighting with him just an hour before. He sighed. His little witch didn't feel safe in her home, and he wanted her to see him as her ally, as her protector, as he endeavored to be, but he didn't want her to feel she couldn't leave her rooms if he wasn't unavailable. Throwing on a white oxford and a black suit coat, he opened a drawer in his dresser and pocketed her vinewood wand that he had collected from the guard at Azkaban. Then he saw himself through the doorway dividing their rooms and escorted her to breakfast.


End file.
